


Metroid S

by Suribot



Category: Metroid Series
Genre: Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suribot/pseuds/Suribot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samus touches down on a frozen world to investigate the radio silence of a Federation research base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Job

My name is Samus Aran. Though I am a bounty hunter, maybe the best one in the galaxy, I'm not usually in demand. My prices are as high as my standards and most jobs don't require someone like me. Three messages in one day, especially to my private inbox, is uncommon.

The first one was an automated all-call to any Federation-associated Bounty Hunters. I still have the forwarding from my public inbox set up for these. I really need to disable that, because they're usually nothing. A facility on the planet Sargas in the TS-008 system has gone dark. No check-ins within the allotted period. A bounty has been offered for information directly from the system. I've done a bunch of jobs like that. They're easy money. It's cheaper to hire a bounty hunter to relay information and set up long-distance communications than it is to have dedicated pilots take care of that. It's simple. Boring, but simple. Not my speed at the moment.

The second one was from an anonymous sender. I've gotten maybe a dozen anonymous messages in my lifetime of doing this. Interstellar messaging systems are tightly regulated and spoofing a message to have no identifiable sender is tough. Not impossible, but generally not worth the effort. Purchasing a throwaway account is usually more effective. Unless you're dealing with government bodies, actually tracing back the identity and location of a sender is hard. So, this caught my interest before I had even read it. It was short, to the point. "There is a metroid on Sargas."

I had to laugh, if only a little. A good deal of my life has been heavily consumed by metroids. You'd think they absorbed time as well as energy. Metroids aren't exactly a widely publicized species. Outside of the Federation's science divisions, they're relatively unknown. An extinct curiosity from SR388. My precise... relationship with them shouldn't be widespread knowledge among humans. The fact that it said "Sargas"is what made me suspicious. It could be another bounty hunter messing with me. I'm sure I've told a few of them about my 'fun times' with metroids over drinks. 

I thought about it for a while. I paced around my temporary starship, the pile of scrap I've been forced to use for the last few months. There were rough seams, dust in the corners. What I wouldn't do for a Hunter-class gunship right about now. I lost access to one of my accounts a few weeks back. Still haven't figured out why, but it's left me short on funds. The Feddy job would be a step in the right direction. Plus, if there was a metroid there... I would have to go. I'd joke about it, but I'd have to. I wouldn't feel comfortable sleeping another night without knowing. 

The third message came shortly after I'd made my decision. A civilian living on Daiban. Her letter was long and heart-felt. I read the entire thing twice. She first apologized for contacting me. Always nice. Apparently, a broker gave her my inbox address. I hadn't spoken with him since before Zebes, but I guess he hadn't forgotten my contact info. She was desperate. Her wife was a federation scientist on Sargas. She'd not heard from her in a while and had grown worried. Then, after she caught wind of the Federation Bounty Hunter all-call to Sargas, she panicked. She needed to know that her wife would be safe.

The woman included a photo of the two of them. They looked happy. 

I'm not the sentimental type. The reward was good. Better, if she was still alive. Kind of a grim thing to specify, but bounty hunters can be cold. She doesn't know me. She can't assume the best. 

Too much all at once. I'd have to be stupid to call it coincidence. It smelled bad, but I couldn't say no. 

I set course for Sargas.


	2. Sargas

Sargas. I'd never heard of the planet before, but after getting three messages on the place in a single day... I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't look into it.

The trip was long and I had time. My ship was halfway to scrap, but a solid data terminal was a necessity in this line of work. I had made sure I had something I could trust not to crap out on me. Sargas is what you'd call a single-biome planet. From pole to pole, it's just about entirely ice. There are salt-water oceans, littered with titanic iceburgs and millions of square miles of solid ice floating atop it, like tectonic plates shifting atop a molten mantle. I'm unfamiliar with the animal and plant life, but according to records, they do exist. If research groups so desired, I'm sure you'd find extremely unique aquatic life beneath the ice and waves. It's been entirely mapped via satellite and is considered a Habitation Class-D planet by the Federation. Class-A worlds are ideal for the habitation of most intelligent species, humans included. Class-B worlds are second choices, good but with some caveats that make it less than ideal. Class-C worlds require some degree of terraforming to be made livable for the majority of Federation species. 

Habitation Class-D worlds are bottom of the barrel. It's the classification assigned to planets that would require significant terraforming to be made even remotely habitable. They're usually so far outside of the circumstellar habitable zone of their solar system that even if they bothered to terraform them, it wouldn't stick. Attributes like toxic atmospheres can also be a factor. Generally speaking, if it's H Class-D, it's not worth it. Looking at the right Galactic charts, you'd see SR388 marked as Class-D. There's some more complicated sub-categories and more specific classes, but Class-X is the only one that's worth talking about. Class-X is reserved for "do not approach" orders. Planets in the process of being overtaken by supernovas fall into this category, as well as civilized worlds that are hostile to the Galactic Federation. Zebes was probably Class-X, for a time. All the charts I used in my Federation days had it as Class-B, from before the Space Pirates took control.

I don't like to think about Zebes.

Sargas, then. I was able to pull the coordinates on the Federation base from the all-call and responded to it under a shell ID. The bounty hunter Shi Tallon doesn't exist, but her bank account certainly does. 'Shi Tallon' will respond to the distress signal and 'Shi Tallon' will be the one to get paid. If someone is trying to lure me out to Sargas, it's probably better if they don't know I'm on my way. 

The ice planet came into view. The southern pole of the planet is entirely ice, with no land beneath it. Even if the ice is a dozen clicks thick, I don't like the idea of not having solid ground beneath me to land. The Federation likely thought the same. The base is equatorial, set into an island maybe 500 clicks across. While still in the warmest longitudinal band of the planet, there doesn't seem to be a single point on the surface that isn't below freezing. Lovely. If there is a metroid on this planet, I can't imagine it's happy about it. 

Total radio silence. No frequencies detected. I ran through every band I can manage on this junker's comm relay. No response. As I broke atmosphere and begun my approach, I could begin to make out a flashing red light atop the base. Their transmission tower didn't appear to be damaged. I gave a run-by in the ship to be certain. The Federation loves their subterranean bases. Above ground was just a small portion of the facility. Probably security installations, in case of a Space Pirate raid. I touched down and continued hailing. No response. I let out a loud sigh and approached my suit.

Whenever I'm out of the armor, I feel tall. Too tall. Like I'm a flag pole that isn't secured quite right or that the right breeze will knock me free. Even back in the federation, when I wore a uniform instead of the armor, I felt tall. 2 meters is quite a bit taller than most people. I'm a little shy of that, but I still tower over most. It feels a bit awkward. It's hard to look cool if you have to duck under doors. I look down at people and feel like I should apologize for the strain I'll put on their necks from all the upward craning. I feel out of place.

When I get in the armor, I feel big. It doesn't add too much height, but the Varia spec makes the shoulders almost comically huge. If anything, navigating normal human spaces becomes more difficult. But when I look down, I am no longer an awkward woman, but an implacable titan. I slip into the armor and feel it wrap around me. My second skin. Before, I was a tree. Now, I am a rock. I cannot be moved. I cannot be destroyed. And when I start moving, I cannot be stopped. 

I am no longer out of place. The armor is my home. It's all I have left of my home. I think of Zebes.

Then I think of SR388.

The tail end of my temporary ship deploys a ramp and slowly, I step out the snow.


	3. Federation Outpost TS-008S

The ramp is stuck. I mumble a few swears I learned from a salty Chozo elder back in the day. He always used to ruffle feathers. He repaired ships and I learned some techniques from him.

I wind up and swing my leg up into the ramp. It dislodges and quickly retracts. Percussive maintenance. His specialty. 

I roll my shoulders and bend my arms. I don't need to adjust to it. The armor is me. I am it. It moves like it's my own skin as I walk toward the base. I check my data link. The terminal on the ship is fine. Top of the line, really. For whatever reason, my suit's data relay doesn't play too nice with it. I can't imagine what's wrong, but I can't wait until I can afford a proper Hunter-class again. Never had any problems with those. Excellent ships. Durable. Excellent longevity... generally speaking. 

The data uplink seems solid, for now. I check my messages. Private inbox is fine. The 'open' inbox is crammed with messages, as usual. I browse through a few. Job requests. Invitations to join mercenary companies. Another message from McHenry asking me out for drinks. She doesn't quit. She should spend more time on bounties. I keep scanning through them and run into the recent problem. As usual, they're all marked as read. I haven't seen most of these yet. I'm almost convinced someone has gained access to this account. Could be a glitch, but maybe it's time to cut it loose.

Hang on. 

There's a reply to the McHenry message. "Do not contact. Compromised." I didn't send that. 

Great. Someone definitely gained access to the account. I'll have to purge it.

A concern for another time. Approaching the door to the base... there is none. There's no door. The interior, once a modest guardhouse, is empty and iced over. I run my fingers across the walls and knock, cracking some of the ice. I'm hoping there's stairs. 

Nope. One elevator. Controls are iced over. I tap the buttons. No response. Wiring is probably frozen. Might've already cracked. The elevator is a no-go for now, unless I feel like breaking it open and dropping down the shaft. Getting any survivors out would be tricky at best, if it came to that. I look around, hoping for an alternative.

There's a small room off to the side of the fortified emplacement. I could describe it as a break room, like you'd see in any decently-sized store... but it just makes me think of the interrogation rooms I've seen on Federation bases. Small, three chairs, a single light, no windows. Everything is iced over, except...

I try to operate the panel. The doors are frozen solid. Shooting the glass won't do much good, unless I want to waste a missile. So, I take a few steps back, get a running start and dive through the window. I go right through the reinforced glass and knock the table aside. Bringing up my arm cannon, I take aim at a round vent built into the wall and fire off a shot. It breaks and clears the way. I curl up. Gotta love standardized ventilation. Perfect fit for the morph ball. I roll in and begin the long, quiet descent into the base.


	4. Down

I've worked with Federation Soldiers a number of times since Zebes. Feddie gear is nice, but it can't hold a candle to Chozo. Mobility, durability, firepower. I'd never go back to the standard-issue white and blue. Norion stands out in my mind. A full company of marines. On any world, against any threat, a force to be reckoned with. Still, they were pushed back. Maybe not desperate, but they were in trouble. 

Then I walked in.

I'll never get tired of that look people give me when they see the armor for the first time. Fear or relief, it's always mixed with hefty awe. They don't even need to see me do anything. There's something about the Chozo design. On any world, against any threat, they know to be afraid. To take a step back. I try not to think too highly of myself. Arrogance leads to mistakes. I can't afford mistakes. Still, it makes me smile, the way people look at me.

That changes, of course, as soon as they see the morph ball. It's maybe the most useful feature I've got and just about the perfect size for the galactic-standard ventilation systems, but I can't tell you it looks all that threatening. Or even cool, to be honest. I try not to fraternize with the marines or the fellow bounty hunters outside of missions anymore. It never goes well. Still, whenever I used to mingle, that was always the first question I'd get. Get a few drinks, the stories slow down, someone asks how it works. How I fit. Jokes get cracked. My careful and stern image of a warlike machine crumbles as I can't help but smile and chuckle. It looks silly. It feels silly. Honestly, it's why I like it so much. Levity is crucial, especially when you're alone for weeks or months at a time. I'd be lying if I said I didn't crack a smile just about every time I used it.

Magnetically clamped to a straight vertical shaft, I slowly navigated my way down. Morph Ball travel is entirely through secondary sensors on my suit. It's a combination of lidar, radar, sonar and a few bits of Chozo technology that I don't know the name of. Masters of the impossible though they were, Chozo did not leave comments in their code. I know how every bit works and I could explain it, but as far as I know, there isn't any equivalencies among other Federation species or technology. I'm not keen on sharing. I don't like to think of myself as paranoid, but I'll not give anyone who could one day be my enemy any sort of advantage. Maybe I should set up a will or something. Release all the data I've collected on my Chozo gear to the public after I die. Couldn't hurt me then, I guess. 

This is a really long ventilation shaft.

By my readings, I've already gone straight down 100 meters with no turns or branches. Bad design for heating and cooling systems. I'm tempted to plant a bomb and see if I pop out into a room, but that's too dangerous right now. Ah, a turn. Now we're getting somewhere. I keep on rolling along, smiling to myself and not at all dizzy. I barely even feel the movement until I drop out of the vent, onto an even floor. Dark, but the sensors show me that there's a bed and chairs. No lifesigns. I uncurl and stand, switching to a low-light visor.

A small private room. One bed, a desk with two chairs and a locker for personal effects. I scan over the desk and spy a small photograph, framed. It's a print, rather than a digital photo display. Makes sense, especially on a remote planet. Can't afford to waste power on anything non-essential. The photo is a of a man and a young boy, both humans. They don't look alike, but it seems very much like a father/son sort of picture. There's a sentimental message written on it in a silvery ink. The boy's name seems to be Otto and he does refer to the man as his father.

I scan it briefly and file it away for future reference. Arm cannon up. Can't be too cautious. The door is locked, curiously, but seeing as I'm already inside, it's no task to get it open. Emergency lights are on as I step into the hallway. Down the hall, there's something painted on the wall. B11. There must be a lot of earth between the surface and the active layers if 100 meters down is only the 11th level. More importantly, I've finally come across something living.

Half my height. Two legs. No visible eyes. Crystalline plating on the back. It reminds me of the sheegoths from Tallon IV, but perhaps a bit friendlier in appearance. It has a spiked back, true, but the face almost looks cute. Smooth, no large teeth.

Then, it opened its mouth.

I could feel the shriek inside my suit. Not just from the speakers, which automatically reduced the noise to prevent hearing damage, but I could actually feel the vibrations of its voice. Two motes of light beneath its skin glowed as it charged. No time to scan. I raised my cannon.

Ice beam would be a laughable choice. If it's a native, it'd be like a refreshing breeze. I charge a shot. It gets too close for my comfort and I release. Light warps around the shot as it tears through the air and stops the thing in its tracks. I can see the heat haze above my arm from the shot. I think that did it. One blow and it went down. I kneel and take a closer look. Scanner won't work if it's dead, unfortunately. The lifesigns and vitals provide important points of reference to figure out its morphology. Still, I can deduce some things on my own. Extremely low body temperature. Likely has some kind of antifreeze agent in its blood. Native species seems likely. 

There's dark red crystals around its mouth. Frozen blood. Likely human.

Carnivore, then. If it's native, then there must be some kind of plant life up top to sustain prey for a meat-eater. Might have had at one of the scientists already.

Maybe we all got lucky and some local life forms are the only problem. I'd like to think that, but if there is a metroid here and containment was breached... I can only hope they weren't stupid enough to try and make them reproduce. An area with out of control beta radiation and a metroid... there could be hundreds by now. I'll assume the best, for now. But if I see one metroid out of containment...

My thought was cut off. A loud thunk. The room I came in? I haven't moved too far from it. 

I turn to the door and fall to the ground immediately. A missile flies overhead and I'm on one knee, cannon up, before I even know what I'm reacting to. It collides with the wall behind me, spraying bits of shrapnel harmlessly against the back of my suit. 

Just ahead of me. Another bounty hunter. The suit looks familiar. Black. Cannon on the right arm, just like mine. Vague t-shape to the red visor.

They're charging a shot. My heart began to race. I could feel adrenaline pumping. 

I sprint forward and bring up the cannon. My fingers twitch and shift as I aim forward to launch a super missile right at the hunter's chest. 

It whiffs, zooming past the figure and shredding the desk along with that photo of the man and his son. If he's still alive, I'll have to give him my scan of it later. Can't think about that now. The hunter is fast. How did they dodge that? I didn't see them duck. My gaze darts back and forth. For just one half of a second, I see a black ball unfurl and a human-shape come barreling at me. A morph ball? Their cannon strikes my head and I stumble back. The charge shot scorches the front of my armor and sets off alarms. My arm moves up and I fire a super missile. It collides, point-blank, and we both go flying. Stupid. I get to my feet. Minimal damage. Chozo tech is built sturdier than whatever that bounty hunter is packing.

Or not.

They stand and shrug off the damage. They're less hurt than I am. How? What? Their cannon is charging again. I pop off another super missile and they side-step, but I'm already running. I duck around a corner and dash. If I can keep it up, I can engage the speed boost. Cornering will be tough, but I need to regroup. 

It had a morph ball. If it's an organic, Chozo-tech is the only answer. It must be a robot or some kind of synthetic. Couldn't fit all the parts inside otherwise. The Federation and Space Pirates have both spent over a decade trying to replicate my morph ball and neither of them has gotten anywhere. Even if they did, integrating it so flawlessly with a power suit just like mine? With armor to withstand point-blank super missiles? Propulsion systems for side-dashing?

I turn another corner just as I hear a section of wall sizzle and blow from the force of that thing's charged shot. Speed boost isn't going to cut it. Too many corners. If it's got a charge cannon and morph ball, I can't assume that it doesn't have a speed boost as well. I bring up the scanner. Something. Anything.

Vent cover. I fire a shot, blast the cover off and hit the ground rolling into a morph ball. I curve sharply and slide in to the tight fit. I got a feel for the size of the vents and the layout from the scanner. I can head up to B10 or down to B12. Options. Good. 

It has a morph ball. Not good. 

I'm definitely going to regret this, but it's my only option. I need intel on this thing. Can't get that in the middle of a firefight.

I drop a power bomb in front of the vent's entrance and roll as fast as I can. Down is quicker than up, so I drop down a branching path and head deeper. The facility rocks around me and the explosion shakes me to my core.

I keep going down.


	5. Reminisce

Sometimes, I enjoy reading through old messages in my private channels. I don't seem it, but I guess I'm a little bit sentimental. I know some other hunters in the trade refuse to think back, insisting it's all bad memories. I think that's too pessimistic. I once had a job on Daiban that went extremely bad. Massive damage to my armor, ship needed a full suite of repairs and the money I got from it didn't even begin to cover my expenses when all was said and done. It was a miserable experience. Still, I'm thinking of it now and smiling. The job in question was to track down a fugitive. 

A Galactic Federation Council meeting was coming up and they wanted him in custody ASAP. He had a grudge against some council member or another and was considered dangerous. So, they called me. The guy was a Ceratopsid, a species of horned humanoids. I don't run into very many of them. It seemed like an easy job, but this guy was very good at running. Tracked him for days and he kept slipping away. 

It all came down to this one big chase that nearly totaled my old ship. I had to follow him on foot and managed to corner him. My suit was running on empty, but he didn't know that. I saw him grin. A buddy of his had a little skiff with mounted guns on it. I'd caught sight of it earlier and kept a note of it in my mind. He thought he'd get the drop on me. Instead, without even turning my head, I lifted my arm cannon and fired off a single missile. It took out the engine and the skiff crashed right near us, little bits of it plinking off my helmet. He was so afraid, he passed out. It's a moment that sticks out in my mind and that memory, that moment of satisfaction... looking back on it, I'd say it's worth the damages I paid. My accounts would disagree, but they'll be comfortably full soon enough.

I mention all of this to get to a rather mundane point. It doesn't matter how bad things get, you have to remember the good parts. Take whatever joy you can and clutch it tight. Wallowing in pity and self-loathing will just rot you from the inside. No matter how miserable a job gets, there'll at least be a good story to tell at the end of it. 

I repeat that to myself. "No matter how miserable a job gets, there'll at least be a good story to tell at the end of it." I repeat it again, because I've been stuck in a vent for the past hour and I really need to remind myself that. I hit a dead end during my escape from that black hunter and, of course, I caved in my point of entry with a power bomb. Who puts a dead end in a ventilation shaft? That's just bad design. The metal in this part of the shaft doesn't appear to be magnetic, for some reason. Budget parts, I suppose. So, I'm rather stuck at the bottom of a long drop. By my estimates, I'm probably level with B14. I've been trying to stall for time and allow some of my more thorough sensors to analyze my surroundings and come up with a plan that didn't involve another power bomb. Those things aren't cheap and I doubt I'll find the resources to manufacture more on a research base. Military base, sure, that kind of ordnance is everywhere. Still, an hour later, my only option remains "power bomb." After the initial deep scanning didn't reveal any additional weaknesses, I tried to use the far-too-extensive life scanners to make sure there won't be any collateral damage. I've been waiting on that for the last 15 minutes or so, as the vents are pretty good at blocking my scanning tech.

So, that's left me to reminisce. Which is what brought that old Daiban job to mind. Now, as my mind wanders further, I focus my attention on the black hunter once more.

They had a morph ball. The arm cannon wasn't anything special, Federation troops have had prototype suits with those since a few months after my first "performance" on Zebes. Just about every marine on Norion had one. But no one has a morph ball. That's mine. I remember the Space Pirate labs on Tallon IV had files saying they'd been trying to replicate it, but with no success. If they had, I'd have seen it in the field by now. Same with the Federation. They can't keep a secret to save their lives. The dash thrusters were extremely responsive and quick too. The aesthetic was off, but it was unmistakably using some Chozo technology. What else explains the morph ball? 

Chozo technology means they got it from me. When? How? I suppose it's not impossible that someone independently recreated the morph ball. Enough people have been trying for the better part of a decade by now. Still, that doesn't feel right. I should've at least heard tell of some clunky prototypes, something. It's worrying. 

The scan comes back. Nothing in power bomb radius is alive, besides some microbial stuff. I can't exactly see what I'll be dropping in to, but I can't worry about that now. I've wasted enough time in this vent.

Can't lose my patience, but I can't dilly-dally any longer.

Dilly-dally. Adam would laugh if he heard me talking like that. Adam's not here, though. 

I drop a power bomb. Three. Two. One. The world goes white and I drop.


	6. Fall

I expected a drop.

I did not expect this drop.

My estimate of coming out on B14 would have been accurate, but I presumed that every floor was the same height. That's normally true in science facilities such as this. So I should have fell one story, two at most of the power bomb collapsed the floor below. 

I fell six stories. The morph ball mostly nullifies momentum and force to prevent falls from being lethal. The key word there is 'mostly.' I've fallen from heights like that before in the morph ball and it's not fun. I managed to shift out about three stories down and engaged the rear thrusters on my power armor to slow the fall. Debris rained down from above and the landing was far from clean. In an older model of Chozo armor, I might've twisted an ankle or broken a shin from a fall like that, at least. With Varia spec, it was just a mildly unpleasant jostling. If I was running with Gravity spec, it would've be a pleasantly soft landing, but that consumes more energy and it's not something I usually bring into Federation installations. Not terribly useful, unless they're one of those ecosystem recreation facilities they've been so fond of lately. I haven't used it in recent memory.

The emergency lights are on, so there's still power to the facility somewhere. However, backups are not nearly enough to light up the tremendous room I found myself in. It's huge. Looks like a hangar, perhaps big enough to fit a small starship. The passenger kind, not a personal Hunter-class like mine. Think bigger. I could take the time to scan and be certain, but that didn't feel like a good use of resources and time. It seemed to be empty, regardless. Can't imagine the utility of a place like this so far underground. It'd be a huge hassle to construct the kind of roof bay doors that'd be needed for anything to fly out of here. Usually, nothing short of military-grade would bother with it. Allegedly, this was a civillian operation with some military oversight. So, lab had some secrets. To be expected.  
I made a bee line for the nearest exit. Someone else was in this base and I'd given them free reign for too long already. I had business to attend to. Black Hunter. Chozo-tech or something damn near it. It weighed on my mind. So much so that I almost didn't notice the thump.

I say 'almost'. 

It felt like a small earthquake. Big and empty though it was, scanning would've been a smart move. I'd have gotten a heads up. 

Four eyes, glowing ice blue in the darkness. And those eyes were about five stories up. That put the thing at just about Kraid-size. Excellent. Amazing. I shouted sarcastic declaratives as I fled for the exit. I heard a roar and balls of something shattered like glass all around me. Crystals immediately grew up from the shards like accelerated science fair projects. I pushed myself. The speed booster kicked in and the big thing was leading its shots. I crashed hard into a door and barreled straight through, breaking the simple door off its hinges. Whatever four-eyes was, it couldn't follow, but I kept running. I didn't know what the ceiling above me was like. It could bring it crashing down on me. Eventually, I stopped. Didn't want to deal with it. Wanted nothing to do with it. Too big. Not my problem. Might become my problem, certainly, but not my problem for the moment. 

Maybe I should've gotten a clear look at the thing. Maybe I shouldn't have come to this forsaken ice planet to sate my curiosity. As I caught my breath (not something I actually needed to do, but more a psychological gesture), I brought up two photos in my visor. The father and son from the B11 dormitory. The Federation scientist and her wife, my client. Just something to ground me. Can't be heartless. Can't be selfish. Can be cold, but I'm not at the moment. The suit's internal heating sees to that. Bad joke. Apologies.

Sometimes, the job doesn't feel worth it. I still do it. Part of me says it's because I know it's right. Part of me thinks of the pay. Another part whispers 'You do it because there's nothing else for you' on quiet nights when I've had a bit too much to drink. All of them are right, in some measure. But the motives don't matter right now. Need to organize my thoughts.

Priority One: Confirm or refute a metroid presence on Sargas. If confirmed, destroy it.  
Priority Two: Aid in the rescue of any surviving civilians. Confirm status of the client's wife.  
Priority Three: Find out what I can about that black hunter. 

General Priority: Don't die. Get out alive.

I really hope I don't have to go back into that hangar. I don't want to fight an ice-flavored Kraid monster today. I really, really don't need that in my life. Apart from that whatever caused the animals and creatures to be loose in this facility, ideally, does not affect my mission. I know that's wishful thinking, but sometimes you just have to hope something will go right.

It rarely does, but you have to hope.

I glanced at the wall. B20. Great. Even farther down. I sighed and pressed on.


	7. “Your mind is not a palace.”

I need to find some sort of map relay or directory. This is a big base and I haven't seen a single civilian. Nothing that might even be sentient, aside from that black hunter. There's likely some sort of emergency shelter in the base. A secure spot that they'd retreat to, something where they could focus whatever remaining power the facility has left. Conserve energy. If you can cut off heating and air maintenance to most of the facility, then emergency power will last for months rather than weeks.

How long had that titanic thing been in the bay? It was huge. It must require enormous amounts of food, so it can't have been there too long. Did it burrow in from below? Was it captured and stored there? Irrelevant questions on a large scale, but any amount of information could help. According to the Federation posting on this job, it's been dark for at least two weeks. Their final check-in was five weeks ago, so that's the absolute maximum length of time there's been a problem. Provided of course, no one was lying. That's always a provision of these sorts of jobs. Could be bad info from the Federation. Could have been some sort of hostile takeover of the facility and the all-clear communication was false. Lots of possibilities. Lots of reasons to be suspicious.

Getting too paranoid, distracted. I need to dial myself back every now and then. When jobs start to seem more trouble than they're worth, I tend to find myself stressing over the little things. I may be experienced, but I'm only human. Bad habits die hard and what makes me a professional is the ability to recognize my faults and deal with them in a timely manner that doesn't affect the mission. I know what gets to me better than anyone else. I had an instructor back in the Federation who liked to give this little speech.

“Your mind is not a palace,” she'd say. “It is not a castle. It is not a fort. It is a home and you live alone. Maintenance is your responsibility. You must know it front and back, because no one but you has the keys.” She'd sometimes vary it up with metaphors about cleaning and cooking, gardening once, but that speech was always at the core. She didn't really expand on it, hoping we'd come to our own conclusions. My interpretation has always been that it's a more thorough “know thyself.” Don't overvalue yourself. Know exactly what you are capable of. If there are problems, acknowledge them and deal with them accordingly. Do not just assume that everything is fine, because no one can check on it but you. It's part of my doctrine of self-reliance. I know who am I and what I can do. As a result of this, I know when to fight, I know when to run and if there is a problem, I am aware of it immediately.

As such, I was very much aware that my gut was telling me something was wrong. A base of this size should have staff of at least five thousand. I've seen no one. I've seen no bodies. There are animals (local wildlife?) wandering the halls, but no obvious points of entry, since the facility is underground. There's that five story monstrosity just barely contained by an subterranean complex you'd normally only see at a military installation. The message about a metroid, here on Sargas. The black hunter. This is a big stack of concerns that were beginning to pile up. They weighed on my mind, distracted me as I wandered these empty halls.

Was I being set up? For what? I mean, I have a lot of enemies. Too many to count, unless anyone happens to have access to a very precise census of the Space Pirate population. That would just be to start. Still, this facility doesn't scream 'derelict.' This isn't some decades-old facility cleaned up to make a snare for little ol' me. This place was recently in operation and recently occupied. That part is true.

So, what can I glean from this?

The Federation angle is likely true. Information is almost certainly being held back, but that's just the standard Federation M.O., really. “Information is on a need to know basis and you don't need to know.” This trait always makes everything seem more sinister than it really is. A lack of communication is neutral. It just so happens that said neutrality often comes at inopportune times and thus seems to present as hostility. When it comes to a bureaucracy, inaction is the default, so it should not be taken as aggression or voluntary action. I'm getting off topic. When McHenry gets drunk, she starts going on about complicated issues relating to the nature of evil and how aggression and inaction can be misinterpreted. It's fascinating, honestly, but unrelated. Getting distracted again. 

The job was publicly posted, which means even if it was a lure for me, someone else might have come here first, so a trap could have been sprung early or poorly on the wrong target. Could have been a calculated risk on their part, but I'm willing to say the job is legit and that there isn't a shadowy 'they' in this instance. 

“There is a metroid on Sargas.”

If the Federation angle is true and the job is legit, then it's safe to assume that someone who knew about the metroid got scared and sent a message to the real metroid expert, the bounty hunter who always ends up dealing with the metroid problem one way or another, the one, the only, Samus Aran. Me. 

I sigh. Maybe it is a setup, if I'm really that predictable.

Paranoia takes a backseat for a moment. Up on the wall, beside a communication terminal, I finally come across a directory. Now I have a goal. That always helps. Time to move on. What will come will come.


	8. 571

571.

It took me about 10 minutes of aimless walking, 15 minutes of searching after coming upon a simple directory and then another 8 minutes interfacing with the base network to come across that number. Not a lot of work, all things considered, and I didn't even have to fire a shot.

571 is the number of entries in the base residency spreadsheet. In short, how many people were stationed here.

From what I can gather, this facility was built to support upwards of 1500 simultaneous residents when operating at full capacity, including security personnel, medical, cooking staff, everything you need to keep bodies alive and kicking. Infirmary staffing lists 4 senior medical officers, with one only one of them listed as a xenobiology specialist. Given how the Federation usually allocates, I'd say that means less than a dozen non-humans among the 571 staff. Not terribly uncommon. Humans are a bit more adaptable than most, so an extreme planet like this might be a little light on the xenodiversity. 

With 571 possible survivors and a facility built to house around 1500, that leaves a rather significant series of questions.

First, how many of those 571 are alive?

Second, given that there are hostile carnivorous life forms loose in the base, it's safe to assume casualties. That sheegoth-looking thing had blood in its maw. Given this, where are the bodies?  
Third, if this is only built to support 1500 people, why is it so huge? It seems more suited to triple that number or more. 

Fourth, and the one I began to seek out immediately through the systems barely running on backup power, where would survivors go in the event of an emergency?

On a related note, I'm a little embarrassed to say it, but I'm not much of a hacker. I know my way around computer systems, generally speaking, but with the size of the galaxy as it is... well, learning two dozen languages which each have a dozen coding languages to get around the specifics of a thousand different computer systems... What I'm trying to say is, I'm mainly just letting my suit do the work here. If I took the time to really learn the dirt on enough computer systems to effectively crack them manually, I wouldn't have much time left to practice my aim. I shouldn't be embarrassed about this. The ability to break through most of the computer systems in the galaxy is just another tool for my metaphorical workbench, but it somehow seems less glamorous than a missile or a bomb. I'm not using tactical knowledge to find optimal placement, I'm basically just hitting a button and hoping it works. When I worked with Ghor, I never let on that this how I did it, just relying on Chozo tech to do the job for me. He'd have berated me for it.

I pause as a small warning pops up on my suit. There's a small memory block in place that prevents specific functions of the network from being accessed without credentials... it's a brute force solution that can't really be brute forced through, but luckily, this is a trick I actually know. It's not something that can be done on the system normally, but when you're interfaced like this, all you need to do is provide a string longer than what it's designed to accept and have the overflow be all zeroes. Then, when it goes to check the credentials, it interprets the overflow as an all-clear coming back. Simple.

Maybe I should study a bit more. I might be better at this than I thought...

I get full access easily. Federation security is usually a lot more secure, but this network is internal and the planet is otherwise uninhabited. You'd have to be on-base already to get this far and it's easier to bulk up physical security than it is digital. Since we're running on emergency power, a lot of the subsystems aren't active, but life support is in... B25. Bottom floor. Small habitation area with minor connected kitchen. Designed to fit about 30 people. Given the size and output, access to food storage, I'd say about 60 people could be crammed in there. That's a start.

I take a look around for any other areas with functional life support.

I come up empty.

I can feel my stomach churn, but I will away the discomfort.

500 dead? At least? 

I start exploring alternate angles. Other areas that could be utilized as makeshift dwelling during an emergency. No dice. If they were stacked on top of each other, packed as tightly as you could without killing them, you could fit maybe 120 people in those areas. Packed like rush hour maglev trains on Daiban. No way they could survive like that for more than a few days, if that. It'd be nightmarish to say the least. The oxygen scrubbers would be packed with carbon from all the filtering within 48 hours. 

I check. O2 levels nominal, which means they haven't been overloaded by strain like that. That means the survivors...

Actually, that doesn't mean anything. The oxygen scrubbers could be fine because there's no one in there to intake oxygen and output carbon dioxide. No respiration.

I inhale, breathing deep through my suit's filters, exhaling and creating a momentary fog on my visor. I have a target. I will investigate the target. No time to interpret. Wait for more information.

I steady the tremble in my left hand.

I remind myself of the job. 

I remind myself of the mission.

I head down.


	9. Humor

Contrary to what the other bounty hunters will tell you, I have a sense of humor. 

Some of my fellows from my Federation Police days would back me up on that. Basic training was hilarious. I had a foot of height on our drill instructor and he had a complex about it. Over the period of a week, I kept slipping bigger and bigger lifts into my boots to make the height gap more pronounced. He didn't know what was up, but by week's end, he was fuming. Also, my knees were in agony from all the running I did in lifts, but that's beside the point. It was funny. Despite what I am about to say, I promise you I can be funny. 

My sense of humor has never once offered a tactical advantage.

I mean, it's true. A joke has never saved my life. Never has a witty retort gotten me out of a jam. Funny doesn't keep me safe. If anything, it distracts from that purpose. It's only useful in the downtime, away from missions, in the dark corners when you get lonely and need to remind yourself that good things exist.

Maybe I'll take McHenry up on that drink when I get back. She gets too flirty for me, when she's not pontificating on the nature of evil. That aside, she's soothing. I'm going to need to relax after this. Laugh. Maybe flirt back. I'd probably be terrible at it. Never tried.

I'm going to have to tell that woman her wife is dead. 

571\. Less than 60 alive, if that. Just above a 10% chance. Maybe higher, if the attacks or whatever happened were localized. Maybe lower, because everyone is already dead and the emergency backups are running without oversight. My brain can run numbers. Bad odds. Not impossible odds, but unlikely ones. 

I pull up the job request. The woman on Daiban is named Wen. Her wife is named Molly Clark. Wen took Molly's surname. Her maiden name is Liao. They've been married for fourteen years. Molly has worked at this facility for about eight months, according to Wen. It's been rough. A relationship like that is foreign to me, so I can't really imagine... anything, really.

I bring up the scan of that photo from earlier. Otto and his father... I'll need to get this scan to Otto, wherever he is. I can't imagine how precious such a photo would be.

Well, I probably can. I definitely can. I know exactly how precious such a photo could be. I don't want to. Not relevant. Focus.

I have two pieces of sentimentality cluttering my visor. I dismiss them both and dive back into the system. I left a little relay plugged in, so I can access remotely. It'll be useful. Can't download it all and can't rely on random terminals.

There's an Aurora Unit tied into the grid. Not uncommon, but it's offline. Strange. They're pretty much their own power generators, it should only stop running if it's been deactivated or damaged. They'll probably want that reported. Designation... AUX-004? That's an incredibly low number. Seems too old to be in a facility like this... Maybe a new designation series? I make a note of it. 

Elevators all seem to be offline. They've got so many safety protocols on them, that doesn't surprise me. There was an elevator I kept riding for this one job on Kankeh that shut down if you sneezed in it too hard. The air didn't agree with me, so it got stuck more often than not. Luckily, there are stairs. No more ventilation shafts for me. I try to move quietly, which works in my favor as I immediately encounter a pair of those sheegoth-looking things from earlier, gathered around something. I crouch and press the left temple of my helmet, bringing up the scan visor. With my extant database and the connection into the facility's network, I should be able to at least stop calling them 'sheegoth-looking things.'

A scant few seconds gives me what I'm looking for.

'Morphology: Keegoth'

“Are you serious?” I ask of no one.

'Though aesthetically similar to the sheegoths of Tallon IV, there is no genetic relation between the two'

“Then why call them that?” I mutter. 

'Powerful anti-freeze agent present in blood that seems to react violently with air possessing high nitrogen content. Carnivorous. Skilled swimmers, but less than adept on land. Have difficulty righting themselves when knocked over.'

I didn't like these things before, but the name somehow makes me hate them. I decide to test out that last part. I charged a shot, which just sort of punched a hole in the thing before. This one looks a little top-heavy. I aim for the spikes and fire at the first one. It topples and falls onto its back, flailing its two legs, kicking the air, unable to right itself. The other one tries to help and as it does, I charge a shot and fire at its leg. It blows it clean off. It flails and its blood seems to evaporate rapidly, misting the air. The other one still struggles, whining as I approach.

The two were chewing bits off of a corpse. Human, female. I finish off the struggling one with clean shot between the eyes.

I roll the body over. Nametag on her labcoat says Matilda Michel. I save a scan of the nametag and turn toward the stairs.

I hope that I'll be able to give someone some good news at the end of all this.


	10. Echo

Heading deeper into the facility, the local fauna began getting denser. I'd gone through a dozen keegoths before I hit B22. They were gnawing on meat and bone. Most of it seemed to be other local wildlife. I found a few little ball-shaped creatures with stubby legs called “Orbons.” They were snow-white and somewhat translucent. They gently hopped around and seemed to be somewhat squishy. Their veins were partially visible, displaying an interesting circulatory system. The little creatures seemed harmless. Somewhat cute, even.

I found most of them being devoured by keegoths, their squishy little bodies being popped like a balloon full of jelly. I had found the prey animals I had hypothesized earlier. Alongside those two, I found some flying creatures that seemed to be nesting on ceilings near the ventilation ducts. No name in the scanner, but morphology indicated they were more mammalian than avian, perhaps functionally similar to monotremes. Egg-laying mammals, sometimes venomous. No indication of a toxic agent from the scans. Not particularly dangerous in this scenario, but they seemed territorial and flocked to my head whenever I was near. They ignored the keegoths, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was because of my size. I was encroaching into their space. The short, stubby bags of teeth were not. I wondered why all of the creatures were so far down. I suspect it might have had to do with the life support system. Frozen planet though it may be, living beings tend to seek out heat. 

I made sure to kill every keegoth on my way down. They were mostly eating the orbons, defiling whatever sanctuary the little round things had sought here, but I found too many feasting on recently deceased humans. If there were survivors, defending them could become chaotic and needlessly dangerous. Solve the problem in advance if you can. If I had a written code, that would be right up there with “make sure it's dead.” 

I'd taken note of their names and tags. Confirmed dead in a report is always better than missing. Death is a tragedy, but it is one that can be overcome. Uncertainty over the fate of a loved one is a much crueler beast to contend with.

I could feel my focus narrow. My thoughts were no longer scattered. It wasn't tunnel vision, more like my attention filed to a laser-fine point. No more wandering. No more daydreaming. I marched down the halls. Keegoths here and there. Not a problem. Barely an obstacle. Animals are animals, as violent and strange as they are. Below a certain intelligence threshold, if you've dealt with one, you've dealt with them all. Subspecies and mutations are another thing, but that's not an issue right now. I felt warm. My suit keeps the temperature remarkably consistent, so it's not external. My blood is rushing. Adrenaline, probably. I kept moving. Too many corners and not enough long stretches for the speed booster or I'd engage it. I try to pace myself. I'm focused now, but I'm rushing. I hit B23. B24.

As I walk out of the stairwell onto B25, I turn my head. I see it before my alarms go off and that saves my life. Call it luck or instinct, but the missile soars past my helmet and detonates on a wall behind me, bits of metal plinking harmlessly off the Varia spec. Glaring from behind a visor is the Black Hunter from before. 

I've had time to think about the question of this hunter. I've got no good answers. Full body armor, condensed enough that if there's a person inside, they probably are about the same size as me. Getting a closer look, it feels eerily similar. I'm convinced I'm looking at armor and not a robot or synthetic life form. If it was a synthetic, the proportions would be different. Big shoulders and small waist, like mine. On an organic, someone wearing a suit, the abdominal section needs to be slimmed down to maintain mobility and flexibility. The arms don't need to move as much so, that and the chest can be heavily reinforced with additional armament stored. It's a humanoid in that armor and they took a lot of cues from me. Getting a good look, it feels like I'm seeing double again. The design is foreign to me. Chozo-inspired, definitely, but nothing I recognize. The space pirates called that Phazon creature I killed on Phaaze the Dark Hunter. It feels like I'm looking at that again. A weird echo of myself. Still, this isn't some weird biological abomination. It's a suit of armor protecting flesh and blood. So there's someone inside there that I'd very much like to have a chat with.

Of course, there's no time for a conversation. Before I get the chance, they fire another missile and start running behind it. I bring up my arm cannon and pop off a partially charged shot, clipping the missile in midair and causing it to burst. Out of the dust, my own missile fires and attempts to track on to the black hunter. They dodge it easily and keep running. So, for the first time since setting foot on Sargas, I bring up the ice beam and fire down. The floor becomes slick, but the hunter stops before setting foot on it. They whip up their arm cannon, but pause for a moment. I'm holding up my hand, palm facing them. Good. I was ready to intercept another shot or dodge if I had to, but I've quelled aggression for at least a moment. I tap the side of my helmet, engaging external speakers.

“I'd really rather not fight. Can we-” They visibly recoil at the sound of my voice, bringing up their arm cannon again... though they don't fire. Instead, they slowly back away. Slowly, cautiously. The gun is trained on me and remains as such until their back touches the opposite wall and they sprint off, out of sight.

I have no idea what to make of that, but I guess it's not a problem for now. I turn and move onward.


	11. "Trust me. You do. Figure it out."

When I opened the door, my first sensation was relief. It only took about ten minutes of light work to get into the door’s security system. There was no airlock, so it wasn’t terribly complex. Some pre-made scripts here, some tweaking of values there and I was safely able to get the door open. I felt a warm relief surge through me. Behind the open door was a huddled mass of survivors. 47 in total. Besides a single Ceratopsid and a pair of Elfin, all humans. Finally, some good news. I didn’t even get a chance to wave, though.

My second sensation was a slight shove forward, followed by a lurch in my stomach. I heard clicks and a tap. A heavily modulated voice echoed out from the black hunter’s suit. “Left hand where I can see it, right hand pointed forward and up. No aggressive movements or we’ll see how good that armor really is.”

I grumbled to myself. My suit’s alarms didn’t trigger. I didn’t hear so much as a footstep. They had gotten the drop on me completely. I hated it, but I didn’t really have any choice. I complied, slowly walking forward with the odd posture. “Forward and up,” I grumbled. If I fired off a shot, it’d just damage the ceiling above the civilians and the Varia spec shoulders prevented me from aiming behind me with any kind of accuracy. They’d thought this through, or maybe just had some experience with Federation troopers. I walked slowly, being thoroughly embarrassed in front of the 47 survivors. Obviously, I should be more concerned about my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever been shown up so badly. Finally, I decided to speak.

“I don’t want you firing that cannon off in here. If you miss me, you hit them. None of us want that.” I didn’t know that, but I hoped.

The black hunter, out of my sight, seemed to consider this. Slowly, they moved around my body, gun trained on me, positioning themselves with their back to a blank wall. No one behind them, no one behind me. Perpendicular to the crowd. I turned slightly and was met with a command from the black hunter. “Take off that armor.”

“Not happening.” I slowly lower my cannon and back away slightly. We had some kind of stand-off going, but not one I could put a name too. An unspoken tension as we both tried to discern the other’s motives.

The black hunter kept their cannon up, but switched away from missiles. That arm cannon was just like mine! Its parts even shifted the same way. I must’ve been robbed or scanned at some point. This is infuriating. Before long, they spoke again. “Fine. Tell me your name and what you’re doing here.”

I grumble. “My name is Samus Aran.” Immediate gasps and mutters from the peanut gallery. I wanted to avoid this. I know I’m kind of famous, but I don’t like setting expectations too high on rescue missions. Before I got to continue, the black hunter spoke again.

“That’s funny.” They put an arm on their cannon and aimed. “Samus Aran. Not ‘Shi Tallon?’”

The alias I used. Time to scrap that pseudonym, I guess “Yes. Samus Aran. Shi Tallon is an alias.” I sighed. “I was here to investigate why the station went dark. Additionally...” I turned to the group. None of them looked military. No uniforms, no short haircuts. Civilians under a Federation grant, most likely. Makes it more complicated, but not unmanageable. “Is there a Molly Clark here?”

Some heads turned and a small woman emerged from the crowd. Blonde hair, green eyes, some freckles across her cheeks. She looked short in the photograph, but she seemed to be of average height. Her wife must be nearly as tall as me, then. I let myself have a smile. I think it came across in my voice. “Wen sent me to see you home safely.”

I’ll never forget her expression. She went weak in the knees immediately, wobbling just a little. Then came the tears, streaming down her cheeks atop the bright smile. She didn’t know how to process it. Midway through, she began to laugh. It was infectious. Cautious smiles appeared on the survivors’ faces, but some looked anxious. I turn back to look at the black hunter. They sigh and walk over slowly, taking a seat in full armor, leaning against the wall. The modulated voice resounded. “I’m here for the rest of them, then.”

That got an eruption of relieved sighs as relief washed over them. No doubts now. They had a rescue party here and they couldn’t be happier. There were cheers, hugs. Confetti would’ve completed the celebration.

Bastard. Stealing my thunder like that. Still, I was relieved. We’re not enemies, I think. Can't hurt to be too cautious. I activate my scanning visor. I need to know about this suit. Immediately, the black hunter turns to look at me as my scanner returns... no results? Unknown object? What?

"You're not getting any information out of me." There was a chuckle.

I curse under my breath. Are you kidding me? Who is this? Blocking my scanner? Stealing my gun tech? Morph Ball?! "You have my name. I don't have yours."

"You do." They replied.

"Uh." Unexpected. "No, I don't."

"Trust me. You do. Figure it out."

It has been a very long time since I have hated something that I could hold a conversation with. Black Hunter here now tops the list. "Fine. Let's talk about something else."

"Yes," The Black Hunter sat up "Let's."


	12. Shi Tallon

The conversation was longer than I expected. 

The bounty hunter in front of me was, in many ways, my worst nightmare. Highly skilled, undetectable to my sensors, a total enigma, and sporting a personality that made me squeezing blood from a stone sound like an appealing alternative to conversation. The black armor didn’t help. Wearing black and red like this spoke to a certain type of bounty hunter that, generally, irked me. The kind of bounty hunter that believes their own hype. 

“So,” I began. “Where do we start?”

They led with a question that surprised me. “How long have you been flying that scrap heap?”

“Uh?” It wasn’t terribly relevant to the mission, but it also felt like salt in a fresh wound. Yeah, my ship is terrible, but you don’t need to tell me that. “A few months.”

“I’ve seen the kind of ships Samus Aran flies.” They scoffed a bit, sounding tinny through the voice processing of their suit. “That one doesn’t fit.” 

I groaned. “Everyone has cash flow problems now and then. I’ll buy a new one with the money from this job. Can we focus on that?”

They grumbled. The extra static around the edges of their voice suggested they were using a modulator to disguise it. My suit can do it too, but I’ve never bothered. It sounds tacky. Nobody who actually should be disguising their voice ever really does. It’s just something people do to give an air of mystery or danger. I hate it. 

“Fine. What do you have?” They asked, tersely.

“Honestly? Not much.” I weighed my options carefully... and decided that if they were going to shoot me in the back, talking about this wouldn’t matter much anyway. “What do you know about metroids?”

There was a full ten seconds of silence. They didn’t seem to react at all, which was ... an interesting reaction all its own.

“Enough. Zebes. SR388.” They paused again. “Couple other places.”

“Okay. There might be one here. Which means there might be a lot here. Anywhere without power or heat is unlikely. They can’t stand cold. So it narrows down the locations.”

I watched their body language carefully, but they felt like an iron wall. Is this how people feel talking to me? I noticed a small tilt of their head, a minute glance to the left.

“Mm.” There was a beat between my remark and that little noise. I don’t think that was in response to me. Was someone in their ear? Maybe support on their ship? Uncommon, especially with someone who seems like such a self-imposed loner. They spoke up again. “Okay. Let me handle that.”

The most insulted I have ever felt was when I was a green recruit and someone crafted a particularly pointed avian-based slur to fling in my direction. I broke his nose. Knocked out a few teeth, too. Wore one of them on a necklace for a day to rub it in his face. Like I said, I was green. That aside, someone saying “I will handle the metroids” to my face is perhaps a close second place prize. I’m not exactly proud of it, but there is literally no one person in the galaxy with as much experience hunting metroids as me. There exists no person more qualified than I. Given that the species is extinct (or very near it), it’s likely that no one will ever live who will ever be as good as I am.

None of this was conveyed in my body language, or my response. “Sure.” 

They paused again, and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll grill the civilians. See if I can get a lead on that. Someone should stay here until we have a secure exit for them anyway.”

There was something odd about that pivot. The logic didn’t flow, necessarily. I felt my armor shift and I probably tilted my head enough for them to notice. An odd feeling in my gut. Something was off. They noticed me as well. I had been quiet for too long. So, I broke the silence.

“Am I going to get a name from you or not?”

“You have it.”

“I really don’t.” 

They chuckled, but it sounded bitter. “You do.”

“Listen-” Before I began, they raised their hand, similar to my earlier gesture.

“I’m being difficult.” They didn’t sound apologetic about it. “I’m in need of a new name, for the interim. If you’re not using it anymore, ‘Shi Tallon’ has a nice ring to it.”

I swore in my head. “Fine. Tallon?” 

“Tallon.” 

“I want an actual name when we’re done.”

They sighed. “ You’ll have it.”

I resisted the urge to throw up my hands. They tapped their arm. “Keep in touch. Channel 4.” 

I clicked off my suit’s speakers for a moment so I could freely grumble and give some voice commands to my suit. A little text scrawl appeared on my heads-up. “Channel saved: Tallon (4).”

I eyed the bounty hunter, but they didn’t seem to notice.

Weird coincidence. Can’t be intentional, can it? Tallon IV is a nothing planet, galactically speaking. I made reports about the space pirate presence and most of what I did there, but it’s not something anyone talks about. Or at least, no one’s ever mentioned it to me. 

I didn’t like this bounty hunter. Still don’t. I clicked my voice channel back on. “Keep the channel quiet, unless it’s vital.”

They raised their hand for some gesture, but seemed to change their mind at the last moment. “I’m not the chatty type.”

“People say that about me too.”

Their was a click and hiss of static, before their voice resumed. “Right.”

The silence was awkward. I didn’t bother breaking it. I turned to leave... I stopped before I did. The hunter looked at me oddly, but I ignored them. I walked through the groups of people and made my way to Molly. I muted myself again, speaking a few words to record as text, before unmuting as I stood above her.

She looked tired. Relieved, but tired. She’d been crying. The good kind, definitely. Her voice was a little wibbly as she spoke. “Ms. ... Aran?”

“Samus is fine. Do you have a datapad?”

She blinked a few times and nodded, taking out a small black rectangle with dirty, industrial protective casing. She offered it to me and, instead, I popped a small data storage device out, handing it over to her. I twisted the cap counter-clockwise and passed it to her. “There’s a message from Wen. Read it as soon as you can.” I waited for her affirmative. She nodded. I nodded back, taking my leave. She plugged it in immediately.

It was a white lie. The data storage was an emergency signal beacon. It took some doing, but I bought some parts for it, mixed in some salvaged Chozo tech, and got them working with my suit over the course of an uneventful lightspeed jump. If she turned the cap on the end clockwise, the center button would unlock and it’d send a signal to my suit and mark its position immediately. Brand new, Samus Aran original. The message from Wen on it was just her email about the job, and another text string with instructions on how to use it, an apology for the misdirection, and one other bit of text.

“I don’t trust the other bounty hunter. Do not hesitate to turn the beacon on if you feel threatened. Keep people between you and them. I’m getting you back to Wen alive.”

It’s inadequate precautions. She’s a civilian with no military training, as far as I can tell. She might not keep a cool head. She might feel disgusted by the idea of using other humans as shields, if she thinks about it. Still, I can only do so much, and I don’t even have an escape route secured for myself yet. 

As I stepped out into the cold hallway, dimly lit by emergency lighting, the door closed behind me. 

If there are 47 survivors, that means there are 524 dead. 

I dearly hope that I didn’t just add to that number.


End file.
